


the worst things in life come free

by kanicro



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Dissociation, I have both no excuse and no explanation, Other, Panic Attacks, gay culture is being a little bit in love with your best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13560015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanicro/pseuds/kanicro
Summary: Jeremy wished he could say something - anything - but his breath was still immaterial and fleeting in his throat. So he looked over at the pillow.And promptly flung himself backwards, falling off the edge of the bed and landing heavily on the floor.His body was laying in the bed. It was awfully, terribly still, skin pale and sunken. He’d think he was dead if not for the heart rate monitor beeping steadily. The noise that was slowly driving Jeremy mad was the same one unashamedly declaring that Jeremy Heere was still alive.





	the worst things in life come free

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The beeping of the heart rate monitor was starting to get on his nerves. Jeremy finally opened his eyes, drowsiness threatening to pull them closed once more, and moved an arm underneath his body to push himself up. The room was remarkably dim, the brightest light emitting softly from the bed beside him. Jeremy looked over to see Rich tapping at his phone, swathed in bandages, an IV drip winding from his arm to a bag full of clear fluid hanging beside his bed.

Jeremy swallowed, but couldn’t bring himself to speak. He’d been asleep for a while so his voice would be all deep and husky and he’d sound like an idiot so he should probably clear his throat but that would make noise and he’d still embarrass himself and he didn’t even know what he’d say. Was Rich’s SQUIP gone too?

Jeremy breathed out heavily, eyes immediately flickering up to Rich to see if he’d heard him. Fortunately, he hadn’t. Jeremy realised he was slumping and straightened up before he remembered the- the-

The SQUIP.

But he still felt like he had to obey.

Was it gone?

Feeling daring, Jeremy let his shoulders fall slowly, tensing in preparation for pain that never came.

Jeremy wasn’t sure.

But he didn’t hurt anymore - he hadn’t realised how much it had hurt until he had woken up numb. He didn’t know whether it was painkillers or just the SQUIP, but the constant ache in his spine had dissipated, leaving him feeling… empty. Foreign. Like it had been there for so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to not have it. He stretched luxuriously and silently, trying to distract himself from his gradually quickening breathing. He took a single deep breath and held it before releasing it slowly, then suddenly as he heard the door open.

He looked up to see Michael entering, chocolate bars in his pockets and a slushie in his hand.

Unthinkingly, he exclaimed, “Michael!”

But he didn’t react. That was okay, Jeremy wasn’t even sure he’d spoken aloud. Michael didn’t look up as he moved to sit down in the chair beside the bed - and Jeremy hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small stack of books beside it, like Michael had prepared to spend a while just sitting in the chair and reading. He pulled his headphones off to let them dangle around his head before he looked up, gazing at something on Jeremy’s pillow.

But Jeremy couldn’t stop looking at Michael. He looked like ass. He looked like he’d had double math first thing on a Monday but had been run over on his way to school. He looked like he’d slept a total of one hour in the past eight days and was surviving on willpower alone, but was slowly running out of willpower. He looked like he’d been the first victim in the zombie apocalypse and had been placed in quarantine for months, leaving him sunken and starving.

Okay, maybe Jeremy was exaggerating. But Michael didn’t look great.

Michael fished a chocolate bar out of his pocket and lifted his gaze to look at Rich.

“Any change?” Michael asked, tossing a chocolate bar over to him.

Jeremy felt his blood run cold. Michael must have seen him, right?

“Nope. It’s been ages, I don’t know why he’s still out of it,” Rich commented, and Jeremy looked over at him to see him looking at his pillow, too.

Was Michael squipped? Was that why he couldn’t see him? If he was squipped, then Rich must have been too, but his lisp was prominent and that was- that wasn’t allowed. It didn’t make any sense. Jeremy wished he could say something - _anything_ \- but his breath was still immaterial and fleeting in his throat. So he looked over at the pillow.

And promptly flung himself backwards, falling off the edge of the bed and landing heavily on the floor. He closed his eyes tight, preparing for the jagged, inevitable pain, but was met with the same numbness he had before. He pushed himself back further, using the wall to haul himself up and opening his eyes. God, he felt sick. His vision swirled and he doubled over, trying to breathe and not throw up.

His body was laying in the bed. It was awfully, terribly still, skin pale and sunken. He’d think he was dead if not for the heart rate monitor beeping steadily. The noise that was slowly driving Jeremy mad was the same one unashamedly declaring that Jeremy Heere was still alive.

So he wasn’t a ghost. He was a- a- a projection, or whatever, and he really should go back into his body. There was a thing about a silver rope, right? Michael had told him about it - he’d said to imagine a silver string connecting you to your body so that you could find your way back. Maybe all Jeremy had to do was touch himself (ugh, that was the most awful phrasing he could ever have used, what was wrong with him) and he could go back.

He walked up alongside his bed, reached over, and touched his hand. Almost immediately, Michael and Rich’s conversation dulled as if he were underwater. His vision went black. His knees gave way and he felt like he was drowning, God, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and the monitor was beeping frantically or maybe that was just the ringing in his ears and there was pain shooting up his spine and through his shoulders and he felt sick and he couldn’t breathe and he wanted it to stop, he wanted it to go away, he wanted to _live-_

Jeremy wrenched his hand away and fell to the floor. He could hear Michael panicking and Rich swearing frantically, and he distantly registered the footsteps as they thudded down the hall. He lay on the floor, feeling the cold seep into his skin and his bones. His heart fluttered against his ribcage and he felt light-headed, so he just lay there and breathed until he heard the door close again.

Michael was sitting down in the chair again, his shoes directly in Jeremy’s line of sight. Jeremy pushed himself up and wriggled along the ground until he sat at Michael’s feet, his head resting on Michael’s legs. He was exhausted. He was also pretty sure that he had cried at some point, because his nose was kinda wet and his vision was blurry.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before he heard Michael ask, “Is it just me or is it kind of cold in here?”

Jeremy blinked himself to full awareness as he heard Rich’s reply. “Even if it was, I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“Shit, yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s no big. Hey, don’t you have to leave soon?”

“Yeah,” Michael sighed, and he stood up.

Jeremy instinctively did the same, sitting down heavily on the bed as his legs gave way slightly. He watched as Michael went over to his body (his _body_ ) and brushed aside the curls on his forehead to place a kiss there. Jeremy felt a rush of warmth fill his chest, only for it to almost immediately be chased away by a dark coil of guilt. He didn’t deserve a friend like Michael.

“See you tomorrow, Jeremy,” he said.

“Hey, do I get a kiss, too?” Rich asked, and Michael laughed.

“I mean, if you want. Kind of figured you were waiting on someone else, though,” he replied, winking.

Rich _giggled._ Jeremy was pretty sure he was dreaming.

“Bye, Michael.”

Michael collected his wrappers and threw them in the bin before moving to leave. Jeremy cast one last glance back at the body on the bed, and then followed.

* * *

Michael lingered in the kitchen just long enough to eat dinner, but it was enough time for Jeremy to do some experiments. He couldn’t move anything (he’d tried. Michael’s hair, place, and TV were all still intact), and Michael couldn’t feel him when he touched him. But he could make him cold.

Jeremy was essentially a travelling, immaterial ice pack.

But making him cold was _something_. On their way down to the basement, Jeremy placed a hand on Michael’s arm and didn’t let go until Michael shivered and paused his game to rub at the offending area. His hand went right through Jeremy’s. Jeremy let a breath of frustration escape him when Michael went back to playing immediately afterwards.

In a moment of emotional weakness, he pushed him.

Jeremy’s stomach lurched violently, his heart thudding up into his throat as he fell - no, plummeted - forward. He was drowning again, he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe-

And then he could. His eyes flew open and he looked down at his hands. No. _Michael’s_ hands.

“Oh, God. Michael?! Michael!” He looked around, but the room was as empty as Michael had thought it was before. Jeremy had- he had- he’d _possessed_ him, or something, he’d pushed Michael out of his body. Shit, what did he do?!

“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-” Jeremy gasped for breath and realised that he was hyperventilating - that he was making Michael’s body hyperventilate, and cry and freak out and everything was too much, he felt sick. He could hear himself keening (pathetic) and swallowed, trying to get a grip. He brought his (Michael’s) hands up to clutch at his (Michael’s) hair in an attempt to ground himself.

“Michael- I’m sorry, I’m so- I didn’t mean- I swear I- I didn’t mean to do this! Please get me out, _push_ me out, get meoutgetmeoutpleasegetmeoutgetmeou-”

And then he was stumbling again, less violently, and Jeremy fell to the floor. He immediately scrambled to his feet, turning around to look at Michael.

Michael, who was looking at his hands in horror, his face streaked with tears. His body still shook from adrenaline, breathing rapid in the aftermath of Jeremy’s panic. His chest heaved as he swallowed, hands shaking slightly. His eyes widened in realisation and he looked around rapidly, searching for-

Searching for Jeremy.

Jeremy felt his breath catch in his throat. After everything- God, Jeremy didn’t deserve Michael. Jeremy was so far from deserving Michael that it wasn’t even funny. Okay, maybe it was a little funny, if only because once upon a time he thought he did. Even as he watched, Michael became more frantic and worried, biting on his lip. Jeremy rushed forwards to grab Michael’s hand as he started speaking.

“Jeremy? Are you-”

Michael gasped and fell silent, eyes dropping to look directly at Jeremy’s hand. Jeremy squeezed Michael’s fingers and then moved his his hand to press it into Michael’s palm, and Michael gasped as if he’d plunged his hand into cold water. His brows furrowed, then his mouth fell into an ‘o’.

“You touched me in the hospital! That’s why I was cold. That was you?”

Jeremy said, “Yes,” like an idiot, before he smacked himself in the forehead. Instead, he traced out a ‘yes’ on Michael’s palm, upside-down.

“Y… e s! Yes, right?” Michael asked excitedly, his face bright.

Jeremy traced out a smiley face.

Michael beamed. Then his face grew alarmed.

“Dude, what the fuck is this?! Is this some SQUIP shit? Are you okay? Before, you-” Michael’s voice was high pitched with worry as he rattled off questions, and Jeremy tapped on Michael’s wrist. He immediately broke off, quickly pushing up his sleeve.

‘I’m sorry’, Jeremy wrote out, and Michael said each letter as he wrote them. When he finished, he shook his head.

“Dude, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, we gotta focus on-”

Jeremy underlined where he’d traced the words several times, over and over and over again until Michael pulled his sleeve down. He could feel himself crying, and he lifted a hand to brush it away with his sleeve. He hadn’t realised (or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it) but he was wearing his favourite cardigan, even though he’d thrown it out a month before. He pulled it tighter around himself then buried his face in his hands. Did he even need to breathe?

“Hey, uh- I don’t know how this whole projection stuff works, but do you want a hug?” Michael asked softly, and Jeremy practically flung himself at Michael.

As soon as he made contact, he plummeted again, only to stumble back out before he’d even finished falling. Michael laughed, shaky at first but then genuine, his breath catching in snorts. Jeremy could feel his face burning.

“Eager, huh? How about we try that again, except slowly?” Michael asked, trying valiantly to stifle his grin.

Jeremy underlined where he’d written ‘yes’ before tapping on Michael’s wrist again. Michael pulled back the sleeve, and Jeremy once more underlined the ‘I’m sorry’.

“Yeah, bud, I know,” Michael said, sounding somewhat sad.

Jeremy tried to ignore it.

Instead, he got up onto the bed, straddling Michael’s legs and grinning slightly when Michael shivered and pouted. He put one arm around Michael, then the other, and then rested his head on his shoulder, burying his face in Michael’s neck.

“Shit, that’s cold,” Michael hissed in an undertone, and Jeremy laughed.

Then he felt a lump form in his throat and he bit his lip, the laugh fading. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe around the stone in his chest. But he couldn't hold back the tears, and they fell onto Michael. He flinched when the first tear hit him, swearing violently in Tagalog, and his shoulders rose up to protect his neck from the chill involuntarily. Jeremy mouthed an apology, trying to breathe his way through and failing. Despite his best efforts, he began shaking, crying in earnest as he clung to Michael like a scared child.

God, he was pathetic.

“Hey, hey, it’s going to be alright,” Michael promised, voice low and soothing, “It’s going to be okay. I know you’re scared. It’s okay, Jeremy, it’s alright. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Jeremy screwed his eyes tighter and tried to believe him.

* * *

“We should try doing that on purpose,” Michael suggested, placing the cap back on the pen.

On his right palm was ‘yes’, the left ‘no’. His right arm was adorned with words and phrases - ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I’m okay,’ ‘How are you?’, ‘Something’s wrong’, ‘Why?’, ‘What?’, and ‘Uh…’, among others. The left wrist had ‘Space’ written on it in case Jeremy wanted to write something. It was ridiculous and excessive and so, so Michael.

Jeremy tapped the ‘What?’, raising an eyebrow even though Michael couldn’t see.

“The whole possession thing,” Michael explained, and Jeremy immediately tapped the ‘No’.

“What? Why not?”

Jeremy carefully finger-spelled ‘I don’t want you hurt.’

Michael immediately shook his head, looking… offended? “It doesn’t hurt. I just have some questions. It’ll be easier if I write them down and then you possess me, or whatever. No big.” His eyes widened, then. “Does it hurt you? Being like this?”

‘No’

“So, why not give it a try? It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just-”

Jeremy swallowed, trying to displace the nausea in his stomach, and agreed.

‘Yes’

Michael nodded, his face that of a man on a mission, and rushed to his desk, tearing a page out of his math book and scrawling down his questions. He read over them a couple of times, mouthing some of the phrases to himself before nodding. He sat back down on the bed beside Jeremy (though he didn’t know that, it was just a lucky guess on Michael’s part) and placed the paper beside him. He then pulled out his phone and set it to record.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Jeremy pushed him out and replaced him.

He gasped, panic rising up in his chest as he tried to escape the sensation of drowning. Jeremy coughed, starting when it came out deeper than he expected. Blinking, he tried to relax, only to curl in on himself again when the movement felt… different. Michael’s body was different (of course it was, way to state the obvious, idiot). He felt wrong, and sick, because this was clearly a heinous violation of- of privacy, and life, and existence, and he wanted out he wantedout

“Okay,” he tried, voice quiet. “I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m okay.”

He exhaled, picking up the paper and smoothing it out. He read over the questions quickly (so maybe he’d read exam tips in the past; it didn’t mean he’d ever actually applied them without the SQUIP reminding him). The writing was messy and lopsided, cramped in some spots where Michael had gone to fix the phrasing, and Jeremy tried to ignore how pitiful it was that his breathing picked up just reading them.

“I don’t- I don’t know what happened. I just woke up like this today, just before you arrived, it- it took me a little while to notice. There’s no silver string or anything. I, uh, I tried to get back into my body, but it didn’t work. I felt like I was drowning, it was- it was terrifying. You were there, the heart rate monitor freaked out. At least, I think it did? I don’t really know, I was kind of out of it. I think the SQUIP is gone. Nobody else knows. And it’s not on here, but I’m- I’m so sorry. God, Michael, I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you, you were right, I don’t- I don’t know why you’re even letting me do this. After everything I’ve done, you’re still here for me. I don’t-” Jeremy broke off, gasping for air because God, of course he was panicking again. He was pathetic. “I don’t know why. I’m sorry. You deserve better.” He swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe. “Can you come back now?”

And then his stomach was lurching again, and let himself sink onto the floor, curling up into a ball. He didn’t know why he was so unstable. He didn’t know when he’d forgotten how prone to panic he was. He didn’t know when he’d forgotten how to cope with it.

He looked up at Michael, who was sitting on the bed despondently but looking curiously down at- at Jeremy.

_He was looking at Jeremy._

Jeremy flinched, curling up further. Pathetic.

“Jeremy? Is that- there’s a sort of, uh, a cold spot. Is that you?”

Jeremy forced himself to uncurl and sit up, reaching out to touch Michael’s right hand.

Michael shivered. “Oh, fuck, that’s cold. You need a jacket?”

Jeremy touched his other hand, pulling his cardigan tighter around himself.

“Okay. Well, I think we can rule out astral projection. And this started before- before you had that heart attack-” Jeremy made a noise high in his throat in shock. “-and you’re alive, so you’re not a ghost. I… really don’t know much about this kind of thing? I’ve been researching more technology and drugs lately,” Michael laughed uncomfortably. “I’ll take a look to see what I can find. Are you going to just… hang around?”

‘Yes’.

“Okay, awesome. Well, I’ll get to it. You can just… pass the time, I guess,” Michael suggested, grabbing his laptop. Then he paused. “Uh… I should probably shower? I’ll be back, dude, don’t go anywhere.”

He gathered together his pyjamas and left the room. Jeremy looked down at his hands, swallowing heavily as he tried to dampen everything he was feeling. He was freaking out, but he was feeling okay. He felt isolated and absent and disconnected and everything was so silent that it was unbearable. The time slipped through his fingers, beyond his control, and Michael returned and made himself comfortable in his bed.

Jeremy hesitated. He looked at the space beside Michael - a space he could fit into. A space he used to fit into. A space he didn’t know he had the right to return to. But he could feel the emptiness in his chest and his limbs and his fingers and his head and he didn’t- he didn’t know how to quantify it. It was sitting on the roof and staring out into space and thinking, or knowing, that you could fall out into it if you only let go. It was going to a party and only seeing strangers and knowing that you’d lost your chance of staying home. It was making the wrong choice once, then twice, then every time and never understanding how. It was laying in bed and knowing nobody was going to come find you because you’d said ‘I’m okay’ when what you wanted to say was ‘Just please give me _something,_ anything, I’ll take anything, please-’

It was sitting on a bed, wanting to move, but doing nothing.

Maybe the universe still owed him one.

He pushed himself to sit beside Michael and pressed himself against his side, head resting on Michael’s shoulder.

“Okay, dude, wait a second. If you’re going to do that then I need to switch the heater on, shit.”

Jeremy waited, watching as Michael did just that. When he returned to his bed, he pulled the covers up around his shoulders, and Jeremy rested against him once more. He closed his eyes, and let himself drift.

“Jeremy?! Jeremy!! Jeremy, heyheyheyhey, Jeremy please wake up-!”

Jeremy flinched into awareness, and he was briefly in agony before the numbness returned. He released a shaky breath, opening his eyes to see Michael leaning over the bed, expression alarmed.

“Jeremy, we gotta go to the hospital. We gotta get you back, okay?” Michael’s brows were creased with anxiety.

Something was definitely wrong. Michael was the most relaxed person Jeremy had ever known, except for when he was excited or mad or listening to music. None of those applied to the current situation. So Jeremy nodded, pushing himself up so that he was kneeling on the bed, and reached out to tap his right hand.

Except his fingers went through, and Michael cried out in pain.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, that’s cold, fuck fuck fuck-” he broke off, cradling his hand to his chest. Jeremy could see that the flesh was slightly redder where he’d touched it, like he’d- like he’d _burned_ him.

Jeremy immediately pushed himself away from Michael, clambering to his feet on the other side of the bed. Shit, what did he do?! He watched as Michael opened his eyes, blinking away the tears at the corners of them. His gaze grew worried when he saw that Jeremy had moved away.

“Jeremy, it’s okay! We just- we gotta go, right now,” Michael insisted, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his headphones.

He rushed through the door and upstairs, looking back to check that Jeremy was behind him. Jeremy followed him through the kitchen and out the front door, then into his car. He felt sluggish, like he was moving through water, like he was-

He gasped, coughing desperately as the hospital came into view. Wait. The hospital was at least 15 minutes away from Michael’s house. His awareness became clear then startling then bright then painful as he followed Michael through the hospital, hurtling along the unknown path to his and Rich’s room. Michael opened the door in a rush, holding it open as Jeremy staggered through and fell the the floor just inside.

“Yo, Mikey, what-?” Rich began, but Michael held up a hand to silence him.

He reached out to touch Jeremy with his right hand before flinching back, the skin blistering where it had already been damaged.

“Jeremy, you have to go back. I promise you’ll be okay,” Michael coaxed, and Jeremy was choking.

He felt like he was drowning just from being near his body, and he _hurt_. He hurt so badly, he felt like he was standing with his back to an inferno. But he trusted Michael. So he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to his body where it lay on the bed. He reached out to touch his hand-

It crashed over him like a wave, an unbearably immense pressure that pulled him into the ground. He could feel his throat tightening and his lungs being compressed and his heart was beating a taboo of stay alive stay alive stay alive and he wanted to, he wanted to so badly. There was a ringing in his ears that silenced the voices in the room and overwhelmed the frantic beeping of the heart rate machine and God, he wanted to _live_ but he also wanted so so badly to die-

The beeping of the heart rate monitor threatened to consume him. Jeremy finally opened his eyes, drowsiness threatening to pull them closed once more, and moved an arm underneath his body to push himself up. Instantly, he regretted it, pain shooting through his spine to resound like a firework through his skull. A firework of pain. A million fireworks of pain, all going off at once. Jeremy couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, or the keening noise that soon followed as it reverberated through his ears and set off another round of bright hurt. But even with the pain, he felt empty - like his insides had been removed and replaced with blankness.

“Feels like you’re missing a part of yourself, doesn’t it?” he heard Rich say and fuck, that was a relief.

He let out a shaky laugh, sinking back into the bed. Tears slid out of the corners of his eyes and fell down his face but he could hardly care less. He was alive. He was okay.

“Hurts like a motherfucker, too,” Rich continued, and Jeremy hummed in agreement. Then a thought occurred to him and he jolted upright, looking towards the door. It was closed, but Michael’s backpack was on the ground by the chair.

“Oh, yeah. He went to seven-eleven to get some stuff. He should be back soon. I’ll tell him to bring you a slushie!”

Two minutes later, Michael came careening into the room, eyes wide and frantic. Then his face fell in relief and- he was tearing up.

"Jeremy," he breathed, with such relief that Jeremy could feel it echoing through the hollowness in his chest.

He placed the slushies down on the chair and rushed over to Jeremy, reaching out first enthusiastically, then tentatively. His eyes flickered over Jeremy, as if making sure he was okay, before he met Jeremy's eyes and smiled shakily. God, Jeremy loved him. He reached out to grab Michael’s right hand, pulling it down to press against his face and he was crying like a sap but whatever. He heard Michael gasp softly before he was being hugged like his life depended on it. Michael was warm and comforting and he smelled like home and he was hugging Jeremy back, arms tight around him. Michael pressed a kiss against his hair (and wow, kudos for dedication to being an affectionate friend, Jeremy was pretty sure his hair hadn’t been washed in a while), clinging to him tightly and swaying slightly.

Jeremy closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> my hot tip for the day is: don't mistake experience in writing with being good at writing
> 
> thank you for reading
> 
> title is from the a team by ed sheeran bc Why Not


End file.
